


Trifecta

by okaywhateverokayyes



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec's POV, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Dialogue, M/M, Malec, Minor season 2b spoilers, Parabatai, moping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 08:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11574258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaywhateverokayyes/pseuds/okaywhateverokayyes
Summary: (Prompt: It's been days since Alec's last seen Magnus and at this point, he's just moping)





	Trifecta

Alec jolted as a tingle ran up his arm, causing him to hover his hand over his brows, shielding the impending light from the bared window just across from him. He curled his hands into the cushions of the leather sofa, hissing under his breath when he poised to sit up.

He hadn’t made it to his bed the night before, unwillingly becoming complacent with rugged couch. As he sprung his hand backwards to knead his fingers into his back, he had regretted his decision swiftly.

 _That doesn’t feel so good_.

His limbs were so stiff and awkward, it felt like he hadn’t even moved at all during the night, assuming that he had given into a deep and somber sleep-which was unusual and unbecoming of him as he rarely found solace in even his own mattress, let alone this rugged sofa.

Which, for all intensive purposes, was not where he expected to spend the night.

At the thought, Alec shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone. He blinked his eyes in progression as he fixated on the screen.

 _No messages. No missed calls. No voicemails_.

Huh.

He swung his legs over the railing, raising his hands over his head as he stifled a yawn, which to no avail, escaped his lips. He glanced at the clock hovering over the wall farthest to him, batted his eye for good measure before he sprung up hastily.

Alec was nimble as he slipped out the room, running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends to flatten them out, to at least give the appearance that he had a modicum of snugness and decorum. His feet, albeit no socks _which, was strange_ , padded across the frigid flooring.

By the time he wandered out to the main-op room, which by the time he had arrived, _late_ , it was inhabited to it’s max. Alec’s eyes wavered across the room, searching for no one in particular but taking notice of the novel faces regardless.

 “Alec!” Isabelle called out for him, twisting one dark lock around her finger as she walked towards him, sharp eyes traveling his form like a predatory’s cat. “Where have you been?” She placed the back of her palm against his forehead, her eyes wavering all over him in determination. Once satisfied that he wasn’t sick or remotely delusional, she smiled at him.

Alec shifted around, shrugging mindlessly as he glanced once more at his phone. _Nothing_. As if the two minutes he had last checked, felt much longer.

“What’s going on?” He asked instead, waving his hand in the direction of the crowd.

Isabelle wrapped her cool hand around his arm, tugging him in the direction away from the rancor. Alec squeezed through the people that passed them, wincing a bit as he scraped his back with more force than he would have liked against the railing. Isabelle was able to get through seamlessly, throwing on a contrite face, enough to get people to offer room in order for her to slip by. Alec on the other hand, had a more difficult time mustering anything other than haziness, as he still felt the weariness drill into his bones and drag him groundward.

Isabelle leaned over the counter, grabbing a plate from beside the crate of what appeared to be, fish? He noticed a slip tucked underneath the cartons. _Taki’s diner_.

Isabelle shifted her gaze to what Alec was looking at, rubbed his back before setting the plate in front of him. He wandered his eyes to take notice of the fried eggs in front of him.

“I’m not hungry.” He stated, simultaneously gripping onto his stomach to stifle the groan. He had more chances of being poisoned from Izzy’s cooking than he had from consuming venom. “Thanks though.” He added, grateful for her affability but intent on evading consumption.

Isabelle raised her brow, as if the groan didn’t fall to deaf ears.

She rolled her eyes as she sauntered to the fridge. “It’s cooked. I promise.” Isabelle grabbed a ketchup bottle and squirted the condiment beside the faded edges of what was supposedly, _eggs_. There was a good amount of ketchup in order to conceal what Alec presumed to be stale, insipid flavor. Or lack, thereof. It was as if even Izzy knew that there was no reason to have to eat her food without something to help make it more digestible, without actually saying those exact words.

He nodded, slowly. With a clipped voice, he repeated once more- “Not really hungry.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Isabelle scowled, patting his back as she nudged the plate towards him. “Jace even said he liked it. And that’s after I spent a good morning’s practice trying to convince him to take a bite.”

“A _bite_?” He repeated, immediately dissuaded. “That doesn’t convince me.” Alec admitted cautiously, knowing he would have been more assuaged if Jace had consumed the entire plate, not just forced a nibble-even he could muster enough voracity to take a _bite_.

“ _Alec._ ” She sighed, mumbling incoherent words under her breath as she pouted. “Come on.” She insisted, refusing to let this one go.

He decided he was actually hungry, though and grabbed the fork, jabbing at the egg in an attempt to see whether it was cooked inside. The last time he had Izzy’s food, she had prepared muffins and although it looked crisp, _a little too crisp_ , to his dismay, it was soggy and uncooked in the center. It was as if he never could tell what it meant to have something imbue to perfection until he’d sampled her food.

He noticed nothing slimy slide onto his plate, satisfied with the sight and held his breath as he took a bite.

For a moment, Alec considered swallowing it whole, refusing to nibble so he didn’t have to actually _taste_ what exactly was in his mouth. A part of him was afraid that if he hadn’t even put on a façade that he was remotely trying to sample her attempt at broiling eggs, hell hath no fury like deception. But he settled to feigning fulfillment as he gulped it down, considering the risks of letting his taste buds be exposed to something so pernicious.

Isabelle perched beside him, leaning one arm against the table and resting her chin upon it. “ _So-_ “ she said with curiosity, “How is it?” She watched him with careful intent as he dropped his fork on the plate.

He forced a small amused look as he turned to face her, curling his hand into a fist and sticking his thumb out.

“ _Really_?”

Alec shrugged. “Not bad.” Which, it was. _Not bad, whatsoever_. He can’t even remember the taste. That was how not bad it was. “Could have been worse.” He admitted, dipping his thumb into the ketchup and taking a quick swipe to enshroud the nonexistent flavor. Having them taste like nothing was much better than having it taste like _something_.

That something was never appetizing nor palatable. Usually on the border of acrid and mind-numbingly stale.

“You barely left the room, last night,” Izzy softened her voice as she raked her hand through his hair  warmly, noticing how unkempt it was and honed in on his ill-attempt at trying to conceal the lack of decorum. She pursed her lips as she sat on the stool next to him. “The Clave sent more dignitaries. With the recent attacks and the accords being opposed left and right, they are deploying as many people as they can to get it under control.” Isabelle answered his earlier question, straightening in her chair with an odd combination of authority and repentance.

“Oh.”

He had spent the past couple of days swarming through memos and getting in contact with envoys and heads of other institutes. Most of the time, he spent discussing with dignitaries, engaged in discourse that felt unproductive when everyone had already made up their mind as to what is the best possible solution in terms of dealing with the tension.

It was as if they were not receptive to the idea, overall.

For whatever reason, as much as he tried, it seemed like getting his point across would be a battle he would have to acquiesce to. For now, that is. Until they’ve started to realize that being resolute in their convictions during this time would be futile in the long-run, especially if they wanted to be determined in remaining invulnerable to any subsequent incursions.

The most frustrating part was having to hear them talk about the same common thing and knowing that they would be unwilling to concur with congruency of it all. If they did, it only meant that they needed to be slightly more cooperative with the downworlders-and at their current rate, the baseline for what it meant to be cooperative was so low, slightly trying would have been a step up.

Alec shrugged. “I got some sleep.” He was grateful for that, because at his current rate, he wondered just how long he was capable of feigning vigor that was nothing more than sheer farce just so their longing glances wouldn’t somehow penetrate into his skull and induce paranoia.

“I can see.” She nudged his head with her elbow, causing him to wail in discontent.

“What was that for?” He rubbed at his scalp, the ache more persistent than he had imagined. Izzy exerted more force than usual, so he glanced at her as he creased his brows inwards. “Huh?”

Isabelle gave him a slightly exasperated look.

“You should always get seven hours of sleep, Alec! Any less, you’re going to be at risk for cardiovascular disease,” she jabbed his tummy from out of his reach, retracting her hand promptly as Alec dove his hand to flick hers away. “Gain weight,” she mocked, “And Jace just might knock you on your ass during your practices.”

The thought of it made him snort. The day that happens, Alec was sure to go find himself a lofty, spacious coffin and lie in it out of sheer embarrassment.

But it was just enough for him to place his hands out defensively. “Aye, aye.” He pressed his hand against his temple, in a salutary manner and waved his hand outwards as he sprung up from the chair.

Isabelle looked at him in confusion as he took languid steps backwards. She prompted her head on her elbow as she watched him retreat.

“Where are you going now?” She called out, her voice a distant sound as he disappeared from the kitchen and into the foyer of the of the vestibule.

He wiped his hands across his shirt, fixing his hair as if he could sense where they stood out.

“To get actual food.” He muttered, to no one in particular.

*** &***

 

He had barely made it past the end of the hallway before he was informed on impending envoy trips. He was asked to gloss over the memos but one thing lead to another before he found himself engrossed in capitulating the details of the trip. Alec spent the next hour or so on micromanaging, sifting through the paperwork that was freshly stacked near the lamp post the moment he returned. 

 

Which hadn't been more than 20 minutes, give or take. 

 

By the time he finished, or completed to the best of his satisfaction, he hung his head low as he pressed his thumb into the crook of his neck to ease the tension. It does nothing but exacerbate the weight pressing into his skin, as if something privy to the average eye had decided to settle against him. 

 

"Alec." There were three succinct knocks against the door. 

 

He looked up in promptly, glancing as Clary proceeded to walk in. He threw on a meager smile as he motioned his hand to the recliner farthest away from him. 

 

Swiftly, he got to his feet and padded his way across to other side of the room, taking the seat across from her. 

 

"I'm sorry to bother you." She said, sincerely, offering a contrite frown. 

 

Alec shook his head, "you're not." He refuted, well-aware of the fact that his workload would only be minimal for the next fortnight or so. There would be nothing ethereal for him to complete as long as he was as punctual and articulate as he was as he formed the memos- which he was confident that he was. 

 

"What's up?" He asked, settling into the cushion. 

 

Clary slipped a strand of hair behind her ear as she glanced at her hands. Timid, would have been the most apt way to explain her entire demeanor. 

 

"Is something wrong?" He asked as he leaned forward, kneading his fingers together in concern. "Did something happen?" Which would have been absurd considering the fact that he would have been the first to hear of it, out of sheer direction of authority. 

 

"No." She was quickly to reply with. "I just wanted to ask something of you-" she continued, her mouth etching upwards loosely, "if that's okay?" Almost hesitant, but she caught his gaze and held it, as if she was determined to say what she needed to say.

 

Alec slowly nodded, wary of what's to come. But then firmly nodded once more, resolute on hearing it out. There was no harm in hearing it out, considering the numerous times he would have been dead last to find out what exactly she was up to. A part of him was thankful and the other part of him was fearful of what it entailed.

 

"I was wondering if you could somehow, I don't know-get me a meeting with the Clave?" 

 

Alec was too engrossed in her request that he blinked his eyes in silence. He was met with stoic quietness as he wetted his parched lips. 

_She what?_

 

"Why?" He said, curious but fretted more of what was the reasoning behind it. Knowing Clary, anything was game. That did nothing but exacerbate his concerns. "Did something happen?" He felt compelled to ask again, hoping for a novel answer in return. 

 

He was not left dismayed. 

 

"I want to help them." She responded, tersely.

 

"How so?" He said, interest piqued. It wasn’t so a bad idea as much as it was a callow one. Her intentions, whatever they may be, rendered her vulnerable no matter what the circumstances may be.

It doesn’t take long before he squeezed his eyes shut, well aware of what manner Clary wanted to be of aid. “Clary, no.” He shook his head vehemently, “You can’t let them know that you can do that. If they find out about how you can,” he lowered his voice, “ _create new runes_ ,” Alec hissed, perching forward, “The Clave is going to-“ _shit themselves_. _Pry you open like a sacked doll_. He doesn’t finish, running a hand across his jaw as he considered the ludicrousness of her proposition.

 

Alec heaved a sigh as he shook his head once more, this time, a little more sternly. Even the mere thought of it was unsatisfactory and deeply unnerving.

 

Clary responded with a raised brow, clearly surprised by his response but in a manner he hadn’t suspected. “Thought we could trust the Clave?” She was quick to throw his words back at him.

 

Alec was just staring at her.

 

True. He had narrated those same words like an unceasing parrot, repeating to whoever and whenever he possibly could. Yet, with the current circumstances, the disarray in all walks of life, the absolute chaos and the structure of the entire world he had known, coming to question-only meant that he had needed to start wondering what exactly he was fighting for. And for who?

 

Questions he never needed to ask himself. Questions he never should have contemplated. Questions that should have been as easy to answer as _what color was the sky at night_ and yet-he all he could do was think about what he spent his whole life doing-not being curious enough and complacent with the answers he got.

 

A long, quiet moment passed.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” He said eventually, his tone low and slow.

 

Clary is at first, reticent.

 

She shrugged, wholeheartedly confused herself as to _why_. “I don’t know.” She admitted, “I just need to know that you have my back, Alec. I’ve spent the most couple of weeks just getting you into a mess that you didn’t ask for,” she was sincere as she whispered, sullen seeped into her eyes, “When it comes to it, I hope you can have my back.”

 

Alec ran it over in his mind. A palpable sort of tension settled over the room, both restrained as they reviewed their thoughts.

 

Logically, having Clary be the one to tell him beforehand felt like a good first step. Yet, knowing it only meant that he could have stopped her if something were to go wrong and when it came to them, when it came to _Clary_ , whether she wanted it or not, danger affixed to her like an eager leech waiting to extract blood.

 

Alec struggled to conceptualize it rationally as he leaned forward in his seat a little bit. “Would it even matter to you if I said no?” He asked, knowing well enough that it was rather rhetorical. As Clary warred with herself, her face varying in emotions in the span of seconds, he doesn’t need to hear her answer.

 

Alec slumped in his seat, aware that Clary was watching him with a fierce gaze. One that was determined yet very much concerned with what he would say. As if it would matter.

 

“And how do you think they are going to respond to your unfamiliar power?”

 

Clary shook her head, “I’m not going to tell them Alec.”

 

“Then-“ he said, slightly stymied, more exasperated than anything, “What exactly do you plan on doing?”

 

Clary inclined her head, drawing her hands out and clasping them together in indignation. “Valentine is going to whatever he possibly can to get back the soul sword,” at the lapse of the word, Alec sat up. “He’s going to bring whoever from wherever he can to retrieve it. We have to stop him and we need all the skill, however novel they may be-“ she added, as if she was keen on undermining his aforementioned concern.

 

Alec grit his teeth.

 

“The guards are up.” He reminded her.

 

She raised her brow in his direction, as if he wasn’t listening to her. As if everything that has happened was supposed to be unlikely and inconceivable. Yet, here they were. “ _Alec_ , the people in Idris are not prepared for what’s to come. You and I both know that.”

 

What was he supposed to say? Be the one to say: _Hey, Clary. The Clave doesn’t have the sword. Someone else does but the Clave knows just how much of a chaos the entire network would endure if that were to get out_.

Alec looked away as he contemplated what to say. Letting her in on what should have been furtive information, made him bristle. Having to be the one to repudiate was not much of his concern, as he was keen on doing so regardless of whoever it might be, but having someone do something that was unnecessarily superfluous only meant he had to bear responsibility if he didn’t let her know _that the goddamn sword is not with the Clave._ That Valentine _has no need to infiltrate Idris_.

Unless-

Alec looked around himself. ‘Befuddled’ would have been an understatement. For the first time, Alec considered the fact that maybe it was imperative to have to disclose something in order to prevent something worse from happening. Yet, as he settled his gaze on Clary, he bit back his words.

Too many people _can’t_ know about this.

“No.”

“No?” Clary repeated, unsatisfied yet poised.

“No.” Alec reiterated, in a clipped voice.

Clary dropped her gaze as she stood up. It only brought Alec to mount himself up, straightening his shoulders as he depressed the soles of his feet into the slackened mat.

Her gaze was almost detached. If not, determined.

“Clary what are you going to do?” He said, sighing under his breath. There was not much anyone could say to dissuade her. He wasn’t sure how many tried but he was convinced that whoever might have, failed miserably.

Clary had her back to him as she strutted towards the door, indignant on getting out.

“Clary.” He called out, lowering his tone. “I’m not going to stop you.” He added, because he couldn’t. “So just-“

“I made a portal the other day.” She was quick to say.

The silence that settled over them was unnerving.

Alec wasn’t sure. How it felt to have the ground beneath him just disappear. And yet, as he stared back at her painstakingly, he scoffed to himself as if he a railroad coal train crushed into him and sprung him into the air, displacing him from being grounded.

“You made it yourself? He restated more to himself than anything. “ _How_?” Clearly aware of _how_. “I mean, _why?_ ” He stammered, hating how much it baffled him. There was nothing that would, surely, now more than ever, restrain her. Other than her own self-continence. Which meant it was up to her to establish her own boundaries. She needed to be able to subdue and imbue, on command, yet with shrewdness that was insurmountable than anything before.

It was _impossible_.

“You would be breaking thirty different rules.” He offered, rules being his direct source of rebuttal. The words come easy to him, as breaching precedents had him feel disconcerted. Once someone created their own precedent, what was there to stop someone else from doing so?

“Clary, you _can’t_.”

She met him half-way as she shook her head. “Alec, we don’t have a better plan.” She insisted, flailing her hands around her vicinity.

He wanted to throw his hands in the air, kick at something- _anything_. And yet, as he punted the air with the heel of his foot, he let out a lament of discontent as he wrapped his hands behind him, trying to center his intuition.

“I won’t do it though, Alec.” She insisted, “I am asking you to ask the Clave for permission so that I don’t have to,” she continued, raising her voice with a tone that aligned with his, “And if they refuse, Magnus-“

“ _Magnus_.” Alec hissed, curling his hands into fists, his face void of any warmth as the blood drained from his face at the very thought. “When did Magnus agree to this?” He said, his voice on the fringe of cracking from just how unsettling it was.

“You’re not listening.” She spoke over him, “M-“

“ _No.”_ He was surprised at how he was able to maintain such composure, when all he wanted to do was shout until his lungs hurt. Until his throat ached and his head felt as if it was mere seconds away from imploding. “You’re not going to drag him into this.” It was terse. Final. Resolute.

There was a moment of dead silence. Utter, dead, _shocked_ silence.

Clary lips thinned as she stood, silent.

The door sprung open, Jace wallowing in as he glanced at Clary before he turned to face Alec, a scowl emerging on his face that caused his forehead to crease.

“What’s with the yelling?” He said, bemused more than anything.

Discomfort lingered under his skin, to the point where Alec felt suffocated to be in the very room. He was swift as he nudged past Jace and made his way into the hallway. At first, he was intent on just going back to his room-maybe the courtyard-for fresh air, yet as he glared down at his curled fists-he decided otherwise.

Punching something seemed like a good idea.

*** &***

So he found himself a hapless punching bag and swung his fists until his knuckles ached, and his lungs were ablaze. The room hampered down on him like a blazing sauna, but he felt less suffocated despite the arid draft.

It was more than that he missed Magnus-it was his own goddamn anxiousness. He hadn’t seen him in days and yet his respite stemmed from the fact that he knew that he was _okay_. That Magnus was somewhere, able-bodied and _alive_ and that brought upon a level of relief that was inexplicable and unmatched.

_Helping Clary with something so absurd? So fucking dangerous?_

Swallowing, hard, he folded his arms across his chest scowling at a speck of air.

He heard the quiet _whoosh_ of the door opening again, and knew Jace was standing behind him.

“What did that heavy bag ever do to you?” Jace wore an amused smirk as stood beside Alec, keeping at an arm’s length distance.

“You’re an ass.” Alec informed him, not turning around.

Jace, rather than retorting with something audacious, walked in front of him, holding his hands out in front of him as he grasped onto the cylinder bag. Alec dropped his hands to his sides, creasing his forehead as he tilted his head to get a better look at Jace.

“ _What_.” He barked, unable to conceal his exasperation.

The sweat slicked onto his flesh like a wet cloth, his hair daintily pressed into his forehead, the strands that fell just above his brows, stuck to the skin like an adhesive. The room felt like a warm sauna although all the windows were open. Alec swiped his hand under his nose, his wrist sodded with the perspiration.

Annoyance, or maybe anger, briefly passed Jace’s eyes.

“Alec, you’re being unreasonable.” He sounded exasperated. As if he was enduring agony at the expense of his sanity just _trying_ to engage in a discourse with Alec.

Alec met his gaze fiercely. “If that’s all you have to say-“ Alec waved at where Jace had walked through. “You can go.” Because he doesn’t get _it_. He wouldn’t get _it_.

Jace doesn’t answer him. He straightened his shoulders as he planted his flattened hands against the duct tape, stance distended, hands firm and steady. Even from where Alec stood, he took notice of how Jace dug his toes into the floor mat, just to steady himself for the impending impact.

“I reall-“

Jace slapped his thigh, the sound richochetting off of the walls in verbatim. “Come on,” he curled his index fingers as to say ‘come on, give it your best’ before resuming his posture.

Alec glared accusingly at the punching bag, as if it offended his very existence. Which it sort of did. He glanced at his knuckles, noticed in the areas where the gauze wasn’t covering his skin, there were purple hueish bruises forming in their place.

At first, he paused to recollect when exactly he had endured such a blow and why it had not induce the stinging of his nerves, but he settled for callowness, as it prevented him from ever having to imagine just how much each and every swelling came to be.

He dropped his hands to his sides as he felt the draft render him incapable of doing anything but try to catch his breath.

“Magnus didn’t agree to help her, Alec.”

He was languid as he elevated his head.

“What?” His voice was coarse, ragged and on the verge of lamenting.

Jace softened his glare.

 “Magnus told her that the Clave was more than capable of protecting themselves and that Clary shouldn’t do anything to jeopardize herself or others,” he said easily, as if witnessed the discourse right before his own eyes. “So Magnus told her to talk to _you_ about it. And that you would offer sensible,” Jace rolled his eyes, “blah. Blah. Blah.” He squabbled as he patted the punching bag as it slowly swung in his direction, from sheer momentum.

“You were there?”

Jace frowned. “Hm?”

“When he said that?” Alec clarified.

Jace etched his mouth into a wide ‘oh’ then nodded his head. “Yeah. I was. We were at the Jade Wolf. Luke wanted to talk to Clary for a bit and I was there to talk to Luke about what was happening down at the Courts.” Jace jabbed his thumb into the tape, just enough that the bag stymied mid-swi. “Magnus was there too.”

Alec took a breath, and blew it out again between his lips.

Not even a year ago he’d been a guy with something to prove. Now, though, he was getting tired of proving. Now-he was just trying not to _lose_ anything. He didn’t want to worry about the Clave. The Circle. Valentine. He didn’t want to lose _his family_. _His friends_. Magnus.

He clawed his nails into the soles of his palms.

His breath was caught in his throat at the very thought.

 _This_ wasn’t a thing that would just blew over-promptly-after considerate decisions were made. Nope. This was a whole bunch of quiet, nagging, obnoxious bullshit that he couldn’t do anything about.

And that frustrated him more than anything.

“Is that what he said to her?” He asked, just to make sure. Just to hear it once more.

Jace gripped his shoulder, gave it a firm squeeze.

“That’s it buddy.” He confirmed. Only to hesitate as he pulled back slightly. “Magnus looks fine, if you ask me.” Which he hadn’t but _semantics_ -it had to have been implicit-so Alec nodded in response because he was grateful to hear it, regardless. “More than fine actually. He’s got on those printed slacks that I’ve never seen him in,” Jace nodded, amused, as if that was pertinent information. “Stuck out like a sore thumb.” He whistled as he punched Alec’s shoulder, throwing on a smoldering grin.

Alec nudged his hand away. At ease but now, annoyed at Jace’s attempt at farcing humor.

“Hilarious.” Alec drily replied with, scoffing under his breath as he unwrapped the gauze from around his knuckles-slowly, tentatively.

“Can’t imagine how they can get any work done when he looks that-“

Alec swatted the back of Jace’s head as he pushed past him, Jace wincing as he drew his leg , _just in the nick of time-_ out to smack Alec as he retreated to the wall farthest away from them. The sole of his foot barely grazed Alec’s behind but he feigned discontent as he swatted his leg away, which caused Jace to lurch forward.

Alec heard the sound of a soft ‘thump’ as Jace hit the ground. Then a prolonged groan.

“You moping motherf-“


End file.
